I'm on a break from my paying writing gig at the moment.
We haven't broken up or anything, we're just on a break.
It's not you, it's me...
Which means I'm writing for no other reason than I enjoy it.
And today I'm going to write about.... my beard.
"Finally!", you exclaim, drawing odd glances from the other folks in your office, home or coffee-serving establishment.
I know!
These ARE exciting times.
Except for a couple of brief periods, I've had a beard of some kind since my honeymoon, 22+ years ago. Goatee, chin beard, raggedy-ass full beard...
The lengths I go to to NOT look like the wanted posters that may still be up in the post office on St. Thomas, AVI.....
And I've realized, over time, that it's never, ever been.... right. Even, balanced, same width on one side as the other, straight along the bottom.....
You'd think, after so much time and effort and practice and maintenance, that I'd have it all figured out by now.
Nope.
Every day, or at least every day I shave, I'm focusing a bit more...here, and letting the mistake I made earlier in the week grow back over... here.....
And I wonder if all the other guys with beards, at least the ones that haven't just let 'em grow wild and out of control, have the same problems, or if it just comes easier for some of them.
There've been costly mistakes with the trimmer, when I've not been paying attention.
They go away, eventually, but until they do, the outcome makes me self-conscious.
And yet I soldier on, doing the best I can with the facial hair I have. Some days I look in the mirror and say "Close enough! Good job!", and other days I realize I've some little bits that need fixing. And sometimes I just take a few days off, without really worrying about them, and thoroughly enjoy the decadence of it, before getting back into the shaving routine....
Yep. This IS just one big-ass metaphor.
I knew you'd get there, eventually!
My facial hair has become a metaphor for adult life, at least mine.
I know, right?!?!
Go ahead and re-read the parts above now, you'll be dazzled.
My daughter, the other night, told me that when you look really close, my whiskers are like a herd of caribou. I can only assume she's thinking "as viewed from an airplane...".
Other times, she's told me my chin's soft and fuzzy, like a bunny.
Like life.
